


between the seasons

by vagarius



Category: Free!
Genre: Implied Bullying, M/M, Makoharu Festival 2015, Makoharu Festival Prompt: Injured, they're kids for most of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagarius/pseuds/vagarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>his breath flies with clumps of dandelion fluff, soft and delicate, as he wishes for nothing more than for his friend to stop hurting.</em>
</p>
<p>In which children are both ardent and fickle, clumsy hands fly in tiny fists, and some bruises require more than eyes for seeing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between the seasons

**Author's Note:**

> The tumblr entry in which you can vote for can be found [here](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/113125594340/username-vagarius-beta-none-round-number-4)

There's a boy on the steps making a chain of dandelions, tying the stems together in meticulous knots, and Haru's not sure what to make of that.

He doesn't have the time to, either, when the boy's parents walk outside to collect him, all smiles and small voices and sizable laughter. The boy wraps the chain around his wrist lazily, green eyes shining in the heat of the sun.

Haru stands, sighs, brushes the grass off his shorts, and returns to the solitude of his house to wait out the last rays of summer.

-

The boy's name is Makoto, and he has a smile as soft as yarn.

It takes Haru by surprise. He can't help but look away, when he first sees it, the barest hint of a blush on his face.

There aren't any dandelions left, so Haru teaches Makoto how to whistle using a blade of grass, and although he isn't able to do it himself, Makoto seems delighted watching Haru breathe into the narrow strands.

Haru swears he sounds like a broken kazoo, but Makoto seems to think otherwise.

-

School had always been a chaotic blur, made up of static pictures and white noise, all meshed together in Haru's botched line of vision.

But now, Makoto is ever-present in front of the gray lines of static, talking and smiling and looking at Haru like he's the world, even though Haru's pretty sure that the _he's_ the one who sees nothing but Makoto.

They're both so far into their own little galaxy that neither of them notices the other students snickering behind their backs and in front of their faces, watching the doting boy and his stoic friend.

-

Haru finds himself sitting on Makoto's front steps more than anticipated throughout the autumn months, where time is spent kicking leaves or petting kittens or watching Makoto's hands slide through the cuffs of his jacket.

Sometimes, Haru watches the other kids play games across the street. They seem to be enjoying themselves, but they're a little too loud, in his opinion. He never sees Makoto hang out with anyone other than him, and he wonders if Makoto ever wants to.

It's on one of these autumn days that he asks; Makoto, in response, smiles his soft smile – the smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes Haru feel like he's melting – and says _but I like hanging out with you, Haru-chan._

-

Winter means scarves and coats and hats and gloves; it means runny noses in response to the biting cold, and it means less sitting outside on the steps and more sitting inside under the kotatsu.

It means that when Makoto comes home late one day, Haru can't see any damage done; he can only question and speculate, and watch as Makoto's mom fusses.

Haru not-so-secretly hates the cold, but he thinks he can tolerate the snow, at least when it cancels school. Makoto looks especially relieved, maybe – Haru's too busy sniffling and staring at the white-bright snow to tell.

-

Makoto zones out when he's in the middle of talking, sometimes.

It's one thing for Haru to zone out, because, well, that's what he does, regardless of who is talking. He's learned when to hum in agreement, when to nod politely, when to answer questions, and how to do it with the least amount of effort. He knows when someone has stopped talking, when the thought is finished and he can stop pretending to listen.

It's also easy to tell when someone hasn't finished a thought, especially Makoto, who will cut himself off when he notices Haru isn't interested. That's different than zoning out, though - cutting himself off is a conscious decision. Zoning out is not. Zoning out is _scary_.

Makoto zoning out is honestly one of the scariest experiences one can face, at least in Haru's opinion, because when it happens, Makoto won't respond to anything, he'll just sit there staring at nothing while Haru calls his name. It's not until Haru pinches his arm, making Makoto jolt, that he snaps out of it.

It's scary and concerning, but Haru doesn't know why it's happening, or what to do about it.

-

If winter is a season of white, then spring is a season of blooming colors, where the trees blush pink and the grass is painted with watercolor flowers. Haru finds it to be satisfactory - thinks that it's a little more than okay when he doesn't have to wear heavy coats and long, stuffy sleeves.

Haru is not okay with the colors blooming on Makoto's arms.

Black and blue bruises emerge from the soft skin, mixing together with purple blotches and slowly sinking spots of brown. There's one spot, on the inside of his elbow, that is nearly green, and it makes Haru _choke,_ because _how is that even possible._

"Who did it," is the first thing Haru bothers to say. He knows it's sounds more like a demand than an apology, but he's so full of rage and resentment that there's no room left for him to care.

"It wasn't anyone, Haru-chan, I was just being – "

"I know you're lying. Who did it."

"I just fell, don't worry, I'm fine – "

"You're not fine. Now tell me who did it."

At this, Makoto shuts his mouth with a _clack,_ and looks down at his shoes, sheepish and tired and a little afraid.

-

Haru figures out who did it, eventually, trailing Makoto's gaze when he zones out once again to see snickering kids with ugly smiles.

They're probably older than him, Haru muses, but there's still a chance that they're in his class, where no one's face except for Makoto's ever seems to come into focus. Regardless, he approaches the group with determination and walks away with bruised knees and scraped elbows.

Makoto pretends to be upset with him, later that day, but his shining eyes and soft-as-yarn smile say otherwise.

-

A simple beating doesn't stop anything; Haru didn't really expect it to. He also didn't expect the problem to get worse, but, well.

At least he can _see_ the bruises now, and do something about it, instead of being left in the dark as Makoto suffers quietly on his own.

It all feels inevitable, for a while, and it's during this time that Haru turns to magic for help. _If you're really that desperate,_ he remembers hearing once, _then make a wish._

On the front steps during the onset of summer, his breath flies with clumps of dandelion fluff, soft and delicate, as he wishes for nothing more than for his friend to stop hurting.

-

He likes to think that his wish worked, even though he knows that the group of tormentors was simply older and graduated.

The visible damage takes it's time to fade, and any other damage more so, but Makoto is in no way weak. He is also in no way easy to read, so it's still hard to take his strong remarks at face value.

After the fading comes the healing, and Haru tries his best to see it through.

-

Throughout the years, everything seems to fall, whether it's apart or to the ground or into his hands.

First the dead leaves of autumn, then the cold white of winter, then the cherry blossoms of spring, then the dandelion seeds of summer. And then, everything starts over once again.

And somewhere between the seasons, Haru falls, too; he falls so far that he thinks no one will be able to reach him, only to realize that he has fallen right into Makoto's arms, body and mind and heart and all.

With Makoto, everything feels stable and warm, and Haru _knows_ that they're older now, and that Makoto can take care of himself, but he can still see remnants of black and blue and purple and brown and that one spot of disgusting yellow-green, faded yet _there,_ and then the warmth is replaced by guilt and dread.

He clings to Makoto a little tighter.

-

They make dandelion chains in the midst of summer, arms brushing together, smooth and kind of sweaty.

Lazily, Haru wraps his chain around Makoto's head and in his hair, fashioning it into the semblance of a crown.

It falls off sometime during the flurry of hands and lips and teeth, left outside to the mercy of the setting sun.

-


End file.
